Without Nationality

Without Nationality

"Don't forget about us"

For past two weeks sadness, concern and hope were the feelings that the Kenyans were showing and sharing with me. They knew that the time for me to leave would come, but for some reason nobody expected it to come so soon … not even me! We were very intentional in not saying goodbye; a "see you later" sounded more appropriate. I have to say that I had not really expected such an abundant demonstration of love, brotherhood and hospitality.
Concerns and hope were raised mostly because. because of the job that I was doing here: collecting data/information from the schools, allowing them the opportunity to create a solution to the water problem and receiving proposals on how to deal with that and, in addition, proposals on income generating activities. So, then the main questions became: What is going to happen now? When is it going to happen? And is it really going to be possible? Well dear reader, I am not going to lie to you, some proposal were extremely ambitious, others not enough so, also only 9 out of the 18 schools accomplished the goal of getting the completed proposals to me. I must admit that part of the problem was the strike, but if some schools were able to make it happen, that means it was entirely possible.
But something that I heard from every single person that was seeing me for the last time was: Don't forget about us! I didn’t know how to respond to that in a way that would make them understand that I could never forget about them. How is it possible to forget about the people that showed me there is so much more to see beyond the Americas. I have learned many things here, but probably one of the most important has been about hospitality (like that of Pastor Charles’ family who gave me the master bedroom of the house to stay in).
I am awaiting my plane to go back to the New World, but something strange is happening inside of me. I am asking myself: Who am I?... I don't really feel I necessarily “belong” anywhere anymore. As far as nationality goes, I feel that I have lost pieces of the Argentinian in me, although I am definitely not a Gringo, but for some reason I felt that I fit so perfectly here (the only thing missing was my wife). I came to realize that in my family life, being a child of God means that we don't belong to any country, but that we are citizens of God's kingdom. That being said, our place in this world is where we can do something to show God's love, mercy and desire for humanity. The scriptural reference regarding service to the orphan and the widow has been played out in my daily life over the past eight weeks. Let me tell you, right up there with the day I married Roni, being in Kenya I felt sure I was in the place where God wanted me to be.
Even though, here I have been a msungu (white man/traveler) to the Kenyans, in the end, we all were able to see and understand that there was no difference between us and we were able to talk at the same level, respectfully forgetting about our color and recognizing in each other the One who lives in our hearts. When we did that, we realized that nationality was not the primary concern, but the fact that we are a big family spread out all around the world.
Kenya will always have a special place in my heart, but this is not a goodbye, this is just a break until I can return to them...

Lost in Translation

Ben, Meredith and I have been in El Salvador for almost a month now. Our main work here in El Salvador has been working with the different mission teams who come each week. The Methodist Church here has connections with UMC churches in the United States, and these churches raise money to come to El Salvador and work. Some churches send teams more than once a year, but I think most come for one week. In 2013, 30 teams will have taken trips here to Ahuachapan. It costs each person about $1600 to come. If I remember right, that’s about double what I had to raise when I did a one week mission trip to El Salvador eight years ago. So not only are groups of 10-20 people coming down to do mission work each week, but each person is being supported by many many other people. Lots of prayers, money, time, and work are being put into the church here, and they are doing good work.

In the mornings, Ben, Meredith and I take Spanish classes, and in the afternoon we help these groups with whatever work they are doing. Most of the work consists of construction, vacation Bible schools, medical clinics, and (this week) food ministry. We act as translators most of the time.

Let me tell you this- translating is hard. I have the utmost respect for our two full-time translators, William and Gaby. 

William, making a party hat at VBS in La Gloria

Gaby and I before VBS at Nueva Jerusalen

They are both Salvadoreño and speak English very well. I admire their abilities. I constantly have to remind myself that I am in fact doing a good job for someone who has only been learning Spanish for 8 weeks. But I’ll say it again- translation is hard.

Very few team members speak Spanish. I completely understand- when I came in high school, I knew no Spanish. I relied on our translator for everything, much like the groups coming in rely on us. It’s a lot of pressure, but I really enjoy it. Being able to communicate with people in their native language is really exciting.

I’ve worked as a translator at various Bible schools each week. I enjoy working with children, I always have, and trying to communicate in Spanish with kids is actually pretty fun. The little ones are my favorite because we have about the same vocabulary level, haha. But really, I am getting the hang of how to tell children directions in Spanish (color this, glue this here, cut this here), and when we’re doing the crafts we just chat. I like getting to know them, learning about their families, how old they are, if they go to school. Just like children in the U.S., when you show an interest, they feel appreciated.

Translating at the medical clinic was a touch more difficult. The first time I translated for a medical clinic I had Gabby right by my side, and she filled in the things I either didn’t understand or didn’t know how to say. However the second time I translated, it was all me. Luckily, I worked really well with the doctor I was paired with, we had a good rhythm, and I felt much more confident. Sadly, that was the same week a parasite ate me, and I was out of commission for a few days. Well darn.

I think by far the hardest thing for me to translate is prayers. This is for two reasons- the first is that I don’t feel like I’m truly praying when I pray in Spanish. It’s still too new, and I don’t understand enough of it to feel like I’m praying. I’m too nervous. The second reason translating prayers is hard is because I don’t quite know the vocabulary yet. For example, when we say in English “We give you thanks for this day,” I would off the top of my head translate this as “Gracias por este día,” when the more correct language (and the language of prayer) is “Te damos gracias por este día.” It’s small things like this that I don’t know yet that make my translated prayers sound uber choppy. Also, prayers can use really complicated language, language that I don’t know, so often my translated prayers are a bit simpler. Luckily, God probably doesn’t care how eloquent my prayers are. God knows what’s up without me saying it out loud, but I still want to get it right for the sake of the people I’m translating to. When we did home visits/ food ministry this week (giving out big bags of food to people in a very poor area), I felt perfectly comfortable translating questions and answers of the people we visited, but when it came time to pray I asked Gaby to help. She said to me today that she felt the Holy Spirit moving through her as she prayed today, and she said she loves translating prayers. That’s a beautiful thing.

Definitely part of my hesitation in translating prayers is because I’m translating from English into Spanish. If it were the other way around, I would be more comfortable. My comprehension skills in Spanish are way better than my speaking skills (which is normal). Also, translating on the spot is difficult not matter what it is! But I look forward to improving my translating/speaking/comprehension skills during my last 2 weeks here.

Peace, Love,and Smiles,

Christa

Shaymus

“Shaymus!  Shaaaaymus,” the four or five African children kept yelling at me.  Some of them whispered it quickly.  Others shot me accusing glances.  I’d catch them looking at me and they’d just smile, their bright eyes lighting up at me.  Then one or two would ask to be picked up as we were walking down the dusty roads of Tembesia.  Whose Shaymus, I wondered. 

Recently I visited an orphanage in the Tembesia township.  The kids here were absolutely amazing.  I spent most of my time playing with four or five boys between eight and ten years old.  They kept climbing on me, hollering at me, and playing ball.  Occasionally a little hand would dart out and rub my beard.  Odd, I thought. 

That afternoon we went walking through Tembesia.  After hearing them call out Shaymus for some time, I realized they meant me.  “Hey,” I asked, “what does that mean?”  “The wrestler,” they replied.  They thought that I, with my beard, looked like one of their favorite wrestlers.   Two thoughts went through my mind.  First, I’m not often mistaken for a wrestler.  I must cherish this moment.  Second, these kids really like Shaymus.    While they clearly knew I wasn’t  the wrestler, I obviously represented a beloved figure in their lives.  They were so excited to have their wrestler spend the day with them.  So I accepted it, climbing and name calling included.  And they kept trying to touch my beard.  I was Shaymus. 

Recently I’ve been thinking a lot about being a provisional elder next year.  How strange is it to assume this new role and be a pastor?  Occasionally here in South Africa I’m treated as a minister, either by title or expectation.  This is shocking.  “Don’t you people realize I haven’t graduated yet?  What would the DComm say?”  But these technicalities don’t matter.  People want someone who can serve God.  They want someone who can love them. 

As I think about my minor pastoral role now and the role I’ll fill next year, I’m reminded of that day in Tembesia.  Just like being called Shaymus, I didn’t ask to be called into ministry.  The call just came.  While I'm willing to fill it, I keep thinking about how I'm not a pastor yet.  I'm not quite there.  Yet despite my inclination to defer to older wisdom, people keep looking at me.  As clumsy and as awkward as I feel at times, I like to imagine myself as strong and mighty Shaymus. Or better yet I imagine myself living into the role of Shaymus, where I can embrace this new identity and hopefully flourish.  I'm sure over the next year the 'name calling' and 'congregational expectations' will continue.  Yet as caught off guard as I may be from time to time (pastor, who me?), it'll help me grow as a minister.  I'm happy to embrace these awkward identity moments for the sake of answering the call.  (But no more beard touching, please.)

The Strike (Kenya)

The Strike

"May the misery of your neighbor

not keep you awake at night" 

It has been three weeks since I got here, but it really feels like an eternity; this culture is just amazing, the area is fantastic, and the Umoja project makes me feel that I really have a purpose, in a way that I have never felt before. 

The phrase above is something that Pastor John, one of the Umoja staff, shared with me when he was explaining about how people behaved around here: sometimes they did not really care about their fellow man. But he also shared that in the past few years, thanks to Umoja, that way of thinking was changing. Eighteen schools working together, congregational leaders coming together, different denominations uniting to help the orphans and vulnerable children. I wonder if reading this will insight you to behave as this community did before or if the suffering of your neighbor may keep you awake at night...

Umoja project is sponsoring over 360 children (primary, secondary, and university students) which includes school fees, uniforms, blankets, kerosene, hygiene products, etc. Plus, they are feeding 3,000 students everyday! AMAZING, HUH??

So, I started on the home visits, in the company of the wonderful Pastor John and we spent hours in the students' homes: getting to know their families a little bit, their challenges and struggles, and most importantly we got to pray for them. We do not have money to hand out, but what we do have, we give and it is our prayers and our time; families really appreciate that. Even though they have no food in the house, that doesn't stop them from seeing God's love for them through our visit. Taking that time and care is of utmost value to them. But we are faced with heart-breaking realities too: like this grandma who has three grandchildren and she can not take care of them. Actually, they are taking care of her and she said to me, "Please take my grandchildren with you and offer them a future..." I was silent and thought, "I know that sometimes it may seem like it is not enough, but by helping them with school, Umoja is giving them the possibility of a future". Thank goodness, Pastor John was there to save me because I had no idea what to say!... Wow, I am learning so much from this experience. I don't believe there is any seminary in the world that can prepare you for something like this!

Now, the difficult thing is that the schools are on strike, which I totally understand and support since the government is not paying fair wages nor are they being true to past promises. So the schools remain closed and schools closed means no lunch program. Without the lunch program, the children do not eat. Take a moment to truly understand the depth of this statement: the biggest problem with this is that, for many children, the meal that they have at school is the ONLY MEAL that they have in a day... So schools being closed is no longer about education alone, it becomes a much BIGGER ISSUE!

The Umoja staff got together and came up with some ideas. Hopefully the strike will end soon, but if not, one idea is for the church congregations to start offering a daily meal for the children in the community. Pastor John and I are still visiting students with the help of some teachers, but we cannot do more than five or six visits per day. Distances are quite long between the schools and some of the children's houses. We asked the schools to provide us with maize and beans to at least take food to some of the families. Some of the schools were responsive, others were not. We are working with the latter group to "help them" change their minds, since the food supply that each school has is a provision of Umoja Project.

We visited several people yesterday and there was a disabled grandmother who was barely able to walk and her granddaughter (9) who is HIV positive. This little girl is so beautiful, you would not believe it, I still have the image of her smile locked in my brain and on my heart. Her grandmother was ready to bow down before us in gratitude when she saw the food we brought. Obviously, we would not allow her to do that and then she started singing a song of praise to the Lord for the blessing... CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?? She didn't have food, yet she was not angry with God because of that, she was praising Him! That only reminds me of all the stupid reasons we use to be angry with God and to fight (as Christians) with each other, when we could be using our time to help people like this. What an example of great faith this grandmother showed.

To support a student here, it is only $35/month. If you calculate it out, it's not much: that could be just one night a month that you don't eat dinner out. Without that dinner out once a month, we can change the whole life course of a little one here. What kind of neighbor are we going to be?

From the most wonderful place in the world....

Fede

Hello from Uganda!!

Greetings from Uganda!!


It has been just over a month since Regina and I arrived in Uganda!
It’s amazing how fast the time has gone! We are both enjoying our time
here and have a lot to share with you all!

First, I will start with what exactly it is we are doing here!

While in Uganda, we are staying at Kasana Cathedral Parish in Luweero,
which is about an hour and a half north of Kampala, the capital city.
We are housed at the parish along with a resident seminarian, Br.
Christopher, and three priests, Fr. Joe (field supervisor), Fr.
Matthias, and Fr. Ambrose. We share meals together with them and have
enjoyed many conversations filled with laughter while in their
presence. We are very well taken care of here and always feel safe.
They are very protective of us and genuinely care about how we are
doing.

Our main responsibility while in Uganda is to teach at the parish-run
schools. We teach Music, Art, and PE at St. Jude Primary School
(elementary school); we also teach Bible and English at St. Cyprian
College (high school). At St. Jude we teach P1-P4 (equivalent to
Kindergarten-4th grade and at St. Cyprian we teach Senior 1
(equivalent to 8th-9th grade). We have a lot of fun with the kids and
enjoy spending time with them. I love walking into the classroom and
seeing the excitement on their faces. They are eager to learn and
eager to spend time with us “mzungus” (Luganda for “whites”—this has a
very positive connotation).

Here are some things we have learned about the schools in Uganda
through our conversations with some of the teachers and
administrators:
      • St. Jude is considered a private school; however, it receives
a government grant. Most of the schools do. There are public schools
which are started by individuals or the government and then run
completely by the government.
      • The government has a policy which provides 1 teacher for every
50 students. St. Jude has a nursery, which does not receive any
government funding; the government only funds schools beginning at P1.
So, the school itself pays for the staff it takes to watch and educate
those children.
      • Typically children start P1 at the age of 6; however, some
parents make arguments for their children to start at age 4 or 5. This
usually happens because the parents work and cannot be with their
children until they reach the age of 6. So they either enroll them in
the nursery or hire a private tutor so they can start P1 early.
      • Primary school is P1-P7; secondary school is Senior 1-Senior
6. They advance every year, like our schools. They do not have
attendance policies here. This is mainly due to a war that was fought
with the local government in the 1980’s that affected Luweero greatly.
They are still recovering from that, so they do not see it fair to
punish a child if they miss a lot of school.
      • We asked about a teacher’s salary in comparison to other jobs.
He told us that teachers make the least amount of money. Last year
they went on strike and the government raised the salary 15%. The
current salary of teachers is 300,000 shillings/month; at the current
exchange rate that is about $125/month. The cost of living here is
high. I’ve actually been surprised that some things have been as
expensive as they are.
      • The likely drop out age is after Primary School; Secondary
School is easily 15x the amount of Primary School. If they enroll in
Secondary School, it is likely they won’t make it past Senior 4
(equivalent to 10th or 11th grade in the states) due to higher fees.
      • We have taken the opportunity to have a few meals at the
school. For breakfast they serve porridge and only the children who
pay for it eat it; the rest of the children go all day without an
empty stomach. For lunch they have what is called “posho” (not sure I
have it spelled right…) at the school with some of the teachers. It is
corn flour boiled in water until it is VERY thick and then beans are
poured over it. Here they mix beans with some greens (looked like
turnip greens) and pour it over. But not all schools have a garden
like St. Jude does. This is lunch for both the teachers and the
students at all schools nation wide, including the universities
(colleges). I can’t imagine some of the reactions undergraduate
students would have if they had to eat it every day. I actually
enjoyed it; the posho was missing some salt but it was a welcomed
difference from the traditional “matoke” (mashed and steamed bananas)
we usually get at every meal!


We’ve also learned a bit about the government. The government runs
EVERYTHING. Last week the budget was set for the 2013-2014 year. About
70% of their budget goes to defense (military). 13% is said to go to
the schools, but Charles told us that, in actuality, it will be more
like 2% that the schools receive.


On Sundays we have the opportunity to worship either at Kasana
Cathedral, where there is a 7 am English service and a 10 am Luganda
service, or we visit one of the thirteen missions of the Diocese with
one of the priests. So far we have visited four of the thirteen
missions. Regina and I both really enjoy going to the mission
churches. There is something special about them. I would compare them
to what we consider small membership churches (though these are pretty
small with probably no more than 60 people in attendance). Kasana
would be compared to a medium sized church. Between the two services I
would guess there to be between 500-600 people. These churches are
definitely something to be cherished.

All the churches in the diocese have a catechist. There are currently
not enough priests for each mission to have its own priest, so
oftentimes they rely on the catechist to lead worship and to preach.
One of the concerns Fr. Joe has shared with us is the lack of
education these catechists receive. While we have not yet engaged in
the conversation as to why education is an issue (is it resources,
money, time, etc?) it is of concern to the priests. Regardless, all of
the ones we have met have been very welcoming and it is very apparent
that the Holy Spirit is at work in these settings.


That is pretty much our weekly routine. We only teach Monday-Thursday,
so we have Friday, Saturday, and Sunday off. Though Sundays are
usually full days with worship and other activities; some Friday and
Saturdays are busier than others. We have time for rest and
reflection—both are very much needed throughout the day and on the
weekends!! We have enjoyed many conversations with the priests, some
of the teachers, and other members of the community.


In addition to our work here, we have had the opportunity to do a
little bit of travel and hope to be able to do some more in the weeks
to come! We have been to Kampala, the capital city of Uganda, a few
times. It is big, busy, and dirty!! They have a few craft markets that
we enjoy browsing. We also attended Namugongo on June 3rd. This is a
celebration Mass remembering the 22 Catholic martyrs who died in 1886.
There were also 23 Anglican martyrs who died with them. It was a good
experience, with an estimated 2-3 million people there. Mass lasted 6
hours. Many people walked 100’s of kilometers to get to Namugongo,
risking their lives for this special occasion. We have also been on a
journey to the center of the earth!! That’s right, we have been to the
Equator! It was a fun, long, and exciting journey! We took public
transportation (“mini-bus” taxis), and that was a whole experience in
itself and a story for another day!!

Overall we have enjoyed our time in Uganda and feel extremely blessed
to be able to participate in such a wonderful, Spirit-led community.

This blog post is also on my personal blog at coalty.blogspot.com

Grace & Peace,
Corey

What's the point?

Pastor Anne Mallaby at the Chapel on Station Gallery, at Box Hill Baptist Church, with view to adjacent sanctuary

I’m currently working at Box Hill Baptist Church in Melbourne, Australia.  Their ministry includes an art gallery in their church space.  For my first day at the church, I helped install a new exhibition in the gallery.  It was  a great way to get to spend some time with the pastors of the church and to become acquainted with things.  In the evening, there was a grand opening for the exhibit, which will remain on display at the church for the next 2 weeks ("fortnight" in Aussie terms).  The art was stunning, and the visitors were warm and friendly.

As Benson McGlone (colleague, Duke M.Div) and I were at the exhibition, we pondered the question, “what’s the ‘point’ of the art gallery?”  Many churches in our experience are focused on evangelism and “outreach,” usually in the form of events that bring people in the doors and get “butts in the pews.”  At this gallery event, some people were not acquainted with this church or interested in Jesus.  These churches might see this as a prime opportunity for outreach, for a gospel presentation, for forcing folks into (somewhat awkward) conversations about Jesus.

Furthermore, Benson and I were drawn to Australia because Christianity simply doesn’t have much cultural capital here; many folks have little experience with Christianity, or bad experiences with the church, and many churches are small, elderly, and shrinking.  What does "evangelism" look like in this context?  In the face of such difficulties, shouldn’t the church be bold, outspoken, even aggressive with the gospel message, to draw folks in?  If not, then what’s the “point” of church, we wondered?

Pastor Anne, functioning as gallery curator and hosting a Q&A session with the artist

At the exhibition event, we (tactfully) posed these questions to Co-Pastor Anne Mallaby, my supervisor.  Her response presented a fresh new perspective: “the point of this gallery, and this exhibition, is to present a safe space for people to wonder.  People experience real beauty here, in the art.  I hope folks begin to wonder and ask questions about real beauty and creativity, in this gallery, which is also a church.  If they ask questions about God, I will discuss it, but I’m not here to force it.  It’s about relationships.”  We are here to wonder alongside one another, Anne explained, and the Holy Spirit will take things from there.

When we encounter the beautiful and the creative, we encounter God (God is, after all, creative by nature).  By the Holy Spirit’s guidance, and some ministerial sensitivity, conversations about beauty just might lead to back to the true source of beauty: God.  This often happens with daily visitors who drop in at the gallery and end up chatting about life with the church volunteers on call.  Sometimes conversations lead to God, and then they touch on the important stuff of life: spirituality, pain, brokenness, love, joy, victory.  This is ministry.  This is outreach.  This is us, joining God, in creativity.

Perhaps Pastor Anne is redefining evangelism in a radical way.  Perhaps those at Box Hill are creating a space for others to encounter Christ  in such a way that the “news” is decidedly “good” again.  Perhaps this is truly wonder-ful.

Peace and wonder,
Tyler Smoot

smoot.tyler@gmail.com

6/2/2013

"We're the Kids in America"

The refrain “we’re the kids in America” echoed in the background of O.R. Tambo International Airport. During the past three weeks in South Africa I have taken note of the various cultural influences around me. In this moment I was in the International Airport watching Africans and Afrikaans walk by, accompanying my Indian host family, and listening to American pop music. My head was beginning to spin with cultural schizophrenia.

When I signed up for this internship I expected a diverse cultural experience, yet I had no way of anticipating its contours. For starters, I never expected an introduction to Indian culture. My hosts are a mixed Afrikaans and Indian family. Meals are often traditional Indian dishes, I get to interact with Indian college students, and I’ve met the extended Indian family. Immersion in the third largest Indian population outside of India has been a very welcome surprise.

The less welcome surprise has been American cultural hegemony. Popular music is American pop music. Two dominant “take aways” are McDonalds and KFC. Current headlining movies include Fast and Furious 6, Iron Man 3, Epic, and Star Trek 2, all American franchises. Within the church I see our members participating in Bible study series, reading Christian fiction, and using other religious resources from mega church pastors in the States. Most saddening of all is that even at Synod at least half of the music played was American Christian praise music.

While American cultural hegemony makes the immersion experience less traumatic, I didn’t come here to be in a mini-America. Yet what I see as troubling is a dissonance among the South African people as to whom they want to be. On the one hand there are incredibly bold statements as to South Africa’s present and future identity being guided by African heritage, such as the impressive Constitutional Court. On the other hand, I have heard and witnessed the South African mentality that they “are the America of Africa.” Among the suburbs in which I am residing it seems that affluence is defined by the American standard. Yet when catchy refrains such as “we’re the kids in America” get stuck in people’s heads, shaping the imagination, should I be surprised to see a clash between African pride and American mimesis?

South Africa Awaits!

“Jesus said, ‘I came into this world for judgment so that those who do not see may see, and those who do see may become blind.’”  -John 9:39

Not too long ago I shoved my life into a bag of no more than fifty pounds and flew half way across the world.  My destination was South Africa.  For months I had been preparing for this journey, reading, seeking advice from friends, and trying to pack for a winter in Africa.  Through all of my preparations I found prayer the most difficult.  Despite all my research I found it hard to imagine the contours of life and church in this foreign land.

I oftentimes found myself drawn to the words of Jesus about sight, that he came that the blind might see.  A big part of this internship is learning to see the church and the world with new eyes.  If I couldn’t conceptualize ministry in South Africa before my travels, at least I could pray for eyes to see upon my arrival.

So after a brief ten thousand mile flight, I arrived at my destination.  South Africa is an exciting country. This is a place where people drive on the wrong side of the road, stoplights are robots, people say fun words like ‘dodgey,’ ‘bru,’ and ‘oak,’ and the weather is schizophrenic.  Most of all, this is a colorful place that lives up to the nickname the Rainbow Nation.  The population is a tapestry of Africans, Afrikaans, Indians, and Coloured* people, to name only a few.

Yet despite the novel experience of seeing a foreign land, I’m constantly reminded that there is so much I don’t see.  I notice the many people milling about directionless on the city streets, but I cannot see what it means to be among the 40% unemployed in this nation.  I have been called a pale face and a whitey, but I don’t understand the lingering wounds of a post-apartheid nation.  I have been warned about areas that are simply unsafe to travel to even during the day, but I have yet to see the full extent of fear caused by racism and xenophobia.   There is much here I don’t understand.

One of my favorite new words here is ‘Sawubona.’   This is a Zulu greeting that literally means “I see you.”  I find this a helpful word to reflect upon.  Rather than simply offer a superficial greeting, the statement acknowledges that you really see another.  My prayer for this experience is that I will have eyes to see beyond superficial boundaries to recognize the people that God loves.  Please pray that during this journey I will have eyes to really see people, the world around me, and the ways God is at work in South Africa.

*Coloured is a term used to refer to those of mixed racial background in South Africa.  Coloured peoples are considered a separate racial group.  In general, South Africans are more direct about racial terms than in the United States. 

emBodying Christ

                Clouds covered the wintry African sky, and the wind raged outside.  Indoors, the nursing home residents were covered in blankets and clustered around a heater.  My friend and I were there to bring communion to church members who couldn’t make it to services, including some members afflicted with Alzheimer’s.

                One woman caught my attention.  The sleeves of her sweatshirt were pinned back, her arms snuggled close to her torso.  Her name was Gilly, and she had been living with Multiple Sclerosis for the past 20 years.  When my friend explained that I was a visiting intern from America, Gilly brightened and said, “Welcome, Sarah!”

                I soon learned that Gilly was paralyzed from the neck down.  She relied on her food and drink being propped up on a tray, a slab of foam, and a thick dictionary – all balanced on her lap.  When it came time to serve communion, I gently tilted the juice into her mouth.  In fact, many of Gilly's fellow residents had lost the use of their hands, so more often than not, they opened their mouths for us to place the wafer inside.

                Can I, too, have such an open-hearted posture when it comes to receiving Christ?  Can I, too, gratefully accept the gift of his presence?  How simple, yet miraculous, to obediently and reverently open oneself to receiving communion.

                Gilly’s MS has not prevented her from continuing to serve the Lord.  Only recently, she became an accomplished painter, using a paintbrush held between her teeth.  A paintbrush held between her teeth!  You wouldn't believe some of her creations.  Her artwork has been turned into greeting cards, and I came back a few days later with some Rand to purchase half a dozen.  Gilly was delighted to hear that I wanted to write about her on this blog.  She happily posed for a picture next to an arrangement of her cards.

{my favorite painting of Gilly's}

                I wonder if I’ll always look back on that communion experience as one of my most memorable times of ministry.  Thank God for people who teach us what true, humble receiving of the Lord’s Supper looks like.  Thank God for people who share their talents with the rest of us, and use their creativity to glorify God.  Thank God for the opportunity to live and serve in another country, witnessing the kingdom of heaven all over the earth!

Kenya (Umoja Project)

                 It has been almost a week since I left the Land of Opportunity to go to a land of the the most welcoming and kind people on Earth! Right know, I am in Kisumu, Kenya to be part of this amazing this called Umoja Project.  

                 I don't really know where to start sharing about this amazing experience... I guess that I should start from the time that we arrived in Nairobi. Since we had a day to kill, Ellen, the director of the project got in contact with a friend who, at the same time, put us in contact with an amazing guy who served as a tour guide through the city. His name was Erasto. We visited nice places in the city and some of the not so nice places. In the beginning, I felt that it was not "nice" since I felt kind of insecure since we were walking through a ghetto-area of the city, but my fears flew away when a bunch of children came up to us shouting out with the cutest little voices, "How are you? How are you?"

                 I saw poverty, yes, and to be honest, I was not surprised. As a matter of fact, that is what people expect when they hear the word: Africa. But what not everybody knows is how rich the African people are in kindness and love for one another and especially for the little ones. In the few hours that we got to stay in Nairobi we spent time at a very humble school, where most of the teachers were volunteers and, along with education, they were offering lunch to the little ones. We also got the chance to talk with an artist who teaches the little ones how to paint and do artwork. The goal of both the school and the artist was to give the future of the country a skill set to survive and be something other than a burden on society. Most of these children and the future of the country are orphans, they have no family to take care of them, but what was extremely surprising to me was how eager the kids were to learn. I think we have something to learn here, I know that in the United States a lot of people help in their free time or with money, but these people give beyond what they have and take all the time needed to spend with the children.  

                  Once we were in Kisumu did I realize that Ellen, the director of the project, was a Rock Star! They call her Mama Ellen (or Hellen, since Ellen is not a common name for them); they show to her how grateful they are for the interest that the GIP (Global Interfaith Partnership) has for the future of the children. Nevertheless, they showed me the same love, they are so grateful that I decided to spend my time with them and, for them, that is so valuable. One of the pastors of North UMC in Indiana told me that, for the Kenyans, people who stay with them is like when the three men visited Abraham: he was so honored that he offered the best of what he had... Let me tell you, HERE THEY TREAT ME LIKE ONE OF THOSE MEN! But not because they think that I have something to give, but because it is in their own nature. 

                    Until now, I only got to visit a few schools, the real rodeo starts next week for me, but from what I see now, I don't know if I want to come back to the United States. I have fallen in love with these children, as I know you will when you see the pictures. 

Blessings from Kenya!!!!!

Federico Apecena

Duke Divinity School Intern

Umoja Project (Kenya)  

On Embracing the Uncomfortable

I am also sharing this post on my personal blog: thejukeboxofmymind.blogspot.com. Feel free to check it out! (There are a lot of pictures!)

This summer, I am spending four weeks in Xela, Guatemala, primarily in Spanish language school, and then heading to El Salvador for six weeks to serve the United Methodist Church. I am studying and working with Meredith and Ben, two people for whom I am very grateful. We have finished our first three weeks of language school, and the time has flown by.

The Uncomfortable

In general, I don’t like change and I don’t like feeling uncomfortable. It’s a wonder I like to travel so much. Whenever I travel, there is always that time of not feeling like I belong, of feeling uncomfortable. I’m not talking about being physically uncomfortable- a bed with very little mattress; cold showers; being wet, smelly, and gross; and crowded buses with people sitting on top of me are givens. I can handle the physical uncomfortableness pretty well. However, the feeling of awkwardness, the insecurity of not belonging- these are the uncomfortable times that I had to embrace during my first few weeks here in Xela, Guatemala.   

Faith

The second day I was here, my host family grilled me about my faith. I don’t live with a Christian family here, and my “dad” has some serious opinions about Christianity. They did not understand what “Anglican” is, let alone “Episcopal.” They think I’m Mormon because I don’t drink coffee or alcohol [I do drink alcohol in the U.S., I just decided not to here]. Anywho, on this second day in Xela, my dad kept asking me about the Holy Spirit, Jesus and saints, and, well, I was super uncomfortable. My speaking skills at this point consisted of “sí” and “no,” although I did understand most of what he was saying. I realized quickly that to some people, I was going to have to defend the cross I wear around my neck. Living with any host family necessitates an adjustment period, and this host experience is no exception.

Food

Last Saturday, I had my first real “culture shock” moment. I went into the kitchen to sit at the table and eat lunch, and on each plate was an entire fish. Head, fins, tail and all. “Lovely,” I thought. How do I eat this?! I decided to wait and watch the rest of my family for hints on how to begin. My eight-year old “brother” dug right in with his hands, ripping off the fins and picking out the bones. I decided to watch other people at the table… one woman was using a fork, so I decided I’d try with the fork. My “dad” looked at me struggling with the fork and said, “You don’t need a fork! Just dig in with your hands, like Fernando!” Ok, if you say so! Hola, culture shock! Fernando ended up devouring three fish-heads. Don’t worry, I didn’t follow that example.

Staring

I love that children have no filter or sensor. My almost 2-year-old “nephew,” Alejandro, is a prime example. He openly stares at me, and then screams. During the stare, his eyes say, “You don’t belong here… You’re not like us. What are you doing here?” I look right back at that adorable child and think, “I don’t know, Alejandro. Good question.”

Language

What makes it all worse is not feeling confident in speaking the language. I feel great at school with my teachers, and then I come home and feel like an idiot talking to my family. Put me in any public situation and I have to rehearse what I’m going to say over and over so as to not feel like a dork. And then usually I don’t understand the responses to whatever I ask.

BUT…

Embracing that Uncomfortable

Recently, something clicked. On my trip to the Mercado San Francisco with my teacher Odilia, I felt like I could actually speak to her, and we had very friendly conversation the entire morning. Over the weekend, Alejandro said my name (“Tita,” he can’t pronounce Christa!). I’ve had bonding moments with every member of my family, even mi abuela who I cannot understand (we dance to the music on the radio). This week I laughed and joked with my new teacher, Flor, as if I was hanging out with a friend in the U.S.

Somehow, miraculously, after three weeks of struggling through a new language and culture, I finally feel like I can be myself in school and with my family. I feel settled, I feel welcomed, I feel comfortable. I have been enveloped in love by these people who at one point had made me feel out of place. When I walk to my “house,” I feel like I’m going home. I have created bonds with my teachers at school that make me excited to go every day, just to see them and talk with them!

But of course after one more week, I will leave for El Salvador where circle of feeling uncomfortable will start all over again. Although feeling uncomfortable is probably one of my least favorite feelings, it is also something I highly recommend because it is a reminder that life is not always a comfort. It doesn’t take an abroad experience to feel uncomfortable- I can think of many places in Durham, Geneva, or Framingham where feeling comfortable would take a lot of time and effort. Time and effort that would be well worth it, vale la pena.

Being uncomfortable abroad ultimately helps me think about immigrants in the United States who potentially live in a perpetual state of discomfort. I firmly believe that when we cannot empathize with people, we make it easier to put up barriers and divide ourselves based on differences. We can easily think that other people’s problems are not our own. I’ll be the first person to tell you that feeling uncomfortable and out of place stinks. However I was given the chance to thrive in the uncomfortable-ness to the point where I was welcomed and loved, and that feels great. Gracias a todas las personas de mi “familia” in Xela quien me ayudaron y me calmaron. Admiro la hospitalidad Guatemalteca.

In the end, what honestly gives me the most comfort is knowing that you all are thinking about me and praying for me as I am on this journey. You, my “family,” have supported me so much along the way, and I appreciate it so much. I will end this post with a prayer from the Book of Common Prayer that I found as I began to write this post, which I see as a prayer to help me try to embrace others who are uncomfortable:

A Prayer for the Human Family

O God, you made us in your own image and redeemed us through Jesus your Son: Look with compassion on the whole human family; take away the arrogance and hatred which infect our hearts; break down the walls that separate us; unite us in bonds of love; and work through our struggle and confusion to accomplish your purpose on earth; that, in your good time, all nations and races may serve you in harmony around your heavenly throne; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Peace, Love, and Smiles,

Christa